Chapter 9 #2
He shook his head and took a long sip of brandy. The annulment was the only way forward. It was what he’d decided from the start. She would understand eventually. Given time, perhaps she would remarry someone capable of giving her the future she deserved. Happiness, security, maybe even a family.
The thought of her being with another man made his stomach turn.
A voice, loud and entirely too cheerful, broke through his musings. “Isn’t it a bit early in the day to be drinking, even for you?”
Dominic didn’t bother to look up. “Go away, Bedford.”
Bedford ignored the warning and dropped into the chair opposite him, still grinning. “And miss an opportunity to be insulted before my midday meal? I wouldn’t dream of it.”
A second, more apologetic voice joined the conversation. “I’m sorry, Warwicke. My wife insisted I bring him with me.”
Dominic looked over and gave Lord Westcott a nod. “You’re welcome here. Bedford… not so much.”
Bedford placed a hand over his heart. “I didn’t realize you cared so deeply.”
Westcott sat down with a sigh. “You look troubled, Warwicke.”
Bedford raised a brow. “Troubled? His face always looks that way. Like he’s contemplating murder.”
“And yet you remain seated across from me,” Dominic said dryly.
“Because I’m an excellent listener,” Bedford replied, unbothered. “And modest, too. One of my many virtues.”
Dominic looked heavenward. “Don’t you have somewhere else—anywhere else—you could be?”
Bedford leaned back, folding his hands behind his head. “Not a one.”
Westcott cast a long-suffering look at him. “You’ll have to forgive Bedford. He’s my wife’s cousin. I’m obligated to tolerate him.”
“This is you being tolerant?” Bedford asked.
Dominic downed the remainder of his drink and stood. “Good day, gentlemen.”
“No, don’t go,” Westcott said, leaning forward. “I’ll make Bedford promise to behave. Sit. Tell us what’s weighing on your mind.”
Dominic hesitated. A part of him wanted nothing more than to be alone. But another part—the quieter, more uncertain part—wanted to say it aloud. To speak the thing he had been dwelling on since last night.
“I’ll stay,” he said, slowly returning to his seat. “Assuming Bedford doesn’t say anything intolerably stupid.”
“He most absolutely will,” Westcott assured him. “Just by opening his mouth.”
“Hurtful, but also accurate,” Bedford said with a smile.
Westcott glanced at Dominic. “What happened?”
Dominic stared into his empty glass. “Dorothea nearly died last night.”
That silenced them both.
Westcott straightened, concern etched onto his features. “What do you mean?”
“A maid lit a fire in her room but forgot to open the damper. I found her unconscious, the room filled with smoke,” Dominic shared.
Bedford’s humor vanished. “Is she all right?”
“She is now,” Dominic replied. “Doctor Taylor was examining her when I left. But I couldn’t stay there any longer. I felt like I couldn’t breathe.” He paused. “She was asleep. Peaceful. And all I could think about was what would’ve happened if I hadn’t come home when I did.”
Westcott gave a slow nod. “I am glad that you found her when you did.”
Dominic’s jaw tensed, the muscle near his ear twitching as he fought to contain his emotions. “I keep replaying it in my head. The what-ifs. The smoke. Her not waking up.”
Westcott leaned in slightly. “Are you still planning to go through with the annulment?”
“I never said I wasn’t.”
“No,” Westcott agreed. “But your face says otherwise.”
Dominic gave a bitter laugh. “I care for her. Enough to let her go.”
Bedford furrowed his brow. “That’s absurd. Why is it you’re allowed to say completely ridiculous things and I get scolded for it?”
Dominic shot him a look. “Because you enjoy being irritating.”
“Guilty as charged,” Bedford responded.
Westcott exhaled and looked at Dominic. “Have you even bothered to ask Dorothea what she wants?”
“I’ve tried,” Dominic admitted. “But I keep getting interrupted.”
“Try harder,” Westcott said. “Have you considered she might want to stay married to you?”
“Please,” Bedford said, raising a hand. “We all know she can’t be happy. She’s married to Warwicke.”
Dominic turned to him, his lips pursed. “I might shoot you.”
“If you do, you’ll end up in Newgate,” Bedford replied with a shrug.
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
Westcott waved a hand, exasperated. “No one is shooting anyone. The point is—Dominic, you clearly care about her. Deeply.”
Dominic’s voice lowered. “I do care. But that doesn’t mean I have feelings for her. That is a vast difference.”
Westcott leaned back, studying him carefully. “You say her name like she’s the only thing that matters to you.”
“I do?” Dominic asked.
“Well, well, well,” Bedford said. “Perhaps I am not the stupidest man in the room.”
Dominic groaned. “You just insulted yourself.”
“I know,” Bedford replied with a smug expression. “It was worth it.”
Rising, Dominic said, “I do believe I’ve had more than my fill of Bedford for one day.”
“He’s an acquired taste,” Westcott remarked dryly.
As he turned towards the exit, Lord Inglewood stepped into his path. “Warwicke,” he said. “Fortune must favor me, for I’d hoped to run into you.”
Dominic stilled, his expression carefully neutral as he offered a stiff nod. “Inglewood.”
The older man’s eyes narrowed slightly, a calculating glint dancing just beneath the surface of his smile. “I wanted to speak with you regarding the upcoming vote. I trust I can count on your support for my bill?”
Dominic kept his voice carefully composed. “I haven’t yet decided. I intend to read the bill in full before I come to any conclusions.”
Inglewood waved a dismissive hand. “A waste of your time.”
“Let me be the judge of that.” Dominic went to brush past him, but Inglewood reached out and clasped his arm, halting him.
“I thought we had an understanding,” Inglewood said, his voice lowering. “I assist you, and in return, you back my bill. That was the arrangement.”
Dominic pulled his arm free. “I don’t make promises in the dark. If I vote for your bill, it will be because I believe it serves England and the people—not because of some backroom bargain.”
Inglewood adjusted the lapels of his coat, his jaw twitching with irritation. “My bill will benefit everyone. Especially the soldiers.”
From behind, Westcott cleared his throat—loudly and pointedly. “Not quite,” he murmured, just enough to be heard.
Inglewood turned with slow deliberation. “Something to say, Westcott?”
Westcott didn’t flinch. “Raising tariffs on imported goods will do more harm than good. You know that. If those countries retaliate with their own tariffs, we’ll be facing a full-blown trade war.”
“They’d be fools to do so,” Inglewood remarked.
“And yet, nations do foolish things all the time,” Westcott countered, folding his arms. “We’re already seeing price instability. Escalating the issue would only hurt the poor.”
Inglewood lifted his chin. “England’s economy is strong. It would recover swiftly from any such skirmish.”
“Perhaps,” Westcott allowed, “but what about those who can’t afford to wait for the economy to bounce back?”
Bedford, who’d been watching the exchange with an unusually serious expression, finally joined in. “What about the poor, Inglewood? They are already struggling to put food on the table. They won’t be able to afford the additional costs.”
“They’ll adjust. They always do,” Inglewood said, turning back towards Dominic. “Tell me, Warwicke—do you still want that annulment?”
“I do,” he replied.
Inglewood smiled, thin and cold. “Then you’ll need allies in Parliament. My backing would go a long way. But as you surely understand… support doesn’t come without a cost.”
Before Dominic could answer, Inglewood pivoted smoothly and strolled away, threading between the tables with the arrogance of a man certain he’d left his mark.
Bedford gave an exaggerated shudder. “Every time I speak to Inglewood, I feel like I need a bath. Possibly two.”
Dominic didn’t respond. Instead, his eyes remained fixed on the door through which Inglewood had vanished. Why did it feel like he had just danced with the devil?